England's kitchen was characteristic for its smell of burning. The smell was floating in the air as a black cloud, escaping from the burning pot or making the smokes signals coming from the oven. America always recognized it immediately, as soon as he had crossed the doorstep of England's house.
And he always knew where to go.
He playfully called it the scent of his childhood as he remembered the grey mushes on the porcelain plates put under his nose. They were always accompanied by a waiting gaze alongside with hope in those green eyes. When he was small he couldn't resist that look, breaking his teeth on the prepared by Englishman dishes while smiling widely.
When he had grown up… Well.
"You want to kill me, right?" America asked politely, touching with a fork something that resembled a dark shapeless pile of… Judging by the look of it – most likely coal.
Alfred was completely sure that the dinner served by England is alive and right now is planning an escape from the plate. To say the truth, America was more than ready to help it, the only thing standing in their way sitting across the table having thick eyebrows raised in a gesture of a disapproval.
"Precisely, but believe me, I know more sophisticated methods than a poison during the dinner. You would stained my tablecloth."
"I have a strange feeling that the thing you made doesn't need a poison. It can perfectly do this by itself. Look! I think it's smiling at you!"
England snarled, taking a sip of the steaming tea from the white faience cup.
"America, would you be so kind and for once actually behave? The fact that I invited you to a dinner is an enough proof of kindness. You don't have to eat, if you don't want to." he added the last sentence lowering his stare at the brown brew.
America responded with a smile, warily impaling a first bit on the fork.
"Oh, but look! I'm sure it has its own life! And I'm hundred percent certain we can named it!" he continued unfazed. With some kind of satisfaction he observed the Englishman fingers, as they clenched around the cup.
"America" England's voice raised by a warning octave.
Alfred replied with a laugh and then started to eat.
"Horrible as always" he remarked airily, while ignoring the death glare from the opposite side of the table.
"You don't have to eat it" repeated Arthur, taking care of his own dinner.
"I'll eat it anyway."
"I know."
There were the things that never changed, even though the time was flowing. The kitchen still had a smell of burning and the green eyes were still giving waiting, furtive glance over the cup. Alfred was still smiling, eating up bit by bit, breaking his teeth until the plate was clean. And in the response – for the one second, just for this short moment, he get a smile. A small, honest smile hidden behind the white faience of the cup.
Disclaimer:
Short drabble with a scent of UsUk in it. Nothing new or original, but I really wanted to write something with those two. Actually I wrote it anew from what I once had written in my native language. So, yeah, there can be mistakes since I'm not native English speaker. If you spot some – please note me! It would be appreciate, since I want to improve my skills!